125th Hunger Games
by Oli2Fab4U
Summary: "On the 125th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they destroyed their own hope and the hope of those in the Capitol, the tributes will be reaped from a pool beyond the traditional reaping ages. Instead of twelve to eighteen, the reaping pool will be nineteen to twenty-five." (SYOT/OPEN)
1. Chapter 1

_President Octavia Basilicus, Capitol_

There's a little thing nobody tells you when you become Panem's president. No, it's not how you probably _should_ take the time to visit the Districts to remind them of your's and the Capitol's eternal benevolence, nor is it how _so_ many people want to speak to you all the time (the introvert inside of me cries nightly). In fact, it's much more fun; it makes the job a little more interesting.

They say that all Quarter Quell twists were created at the end of The Dark Days, guidelines as to how the Games would progress on the monuments occasions and, partially, it's true. Every Quarter Quell there's a choice between three quell ideas, some being multiples of past ideas. Your job as president is to pick the most fitting one in light of recent events. Some are deliberate, like President Snow with the 75th Hunger Games and others are simply because the president feels like it, the reasoning behind the 50th Hunger Games. Last Quell I chose the twist of the children of victors to enter the Games as an ode to the Quell before it, to symbolise it, if you will. That means that this year I can pick one simply because I feel like it.

The three porcelain white cards that have the quells written on in a neat calligraphy are always presented at the desk of the president a few hours before the nationwide announcement of the quell. Some say it's to replicate the snap decisions that the Tributes have to make when they're in the arena and how you need to be sure with your choice, forcing you to choose between your gut feeling or what you logically think. Others, myself include, believe it's just a way to hype the event up even more; if the president is still giddy from reading it hours prior, the Capitolites will feed off the excitement which, in turn, heightens the Districts' dismay.

And, at exactly two hours before I take to the podium before the crowd of Capitolites where the chariots will be held in just a week or so time, I get given the three letters.

'On the 125th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they willingly sent their men to war, leaving the women at home with their families _and_ to remind them of the Capitolite men that were killed, the tributes this year will all be male.' A rather... basic quell. Below it sits another card, altered to fit the same twist but for females, the reminder being strictly that many Capitolite women were killed. As interesting and perhaps dramatic seeing one single gender fight it out amongst each other, the quell doesn't excite me and that is a critical criteria.

The second letter is perhaps more dramatic; 'On the 125th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that during the war that they raged families were torn apart and led to their deaths through loyalty, each tribute _must_ select one of their siblings to accompany them into the arena. The sibling can be of any age.' A definite front runner of the two options so far. I, personally, like this one because it ensures double the tributes whilst causing double the devastation for the Districts.

But then, my eyes land on the final one. It isn't as dramatic as the second quell idea, but it isn't as boring as the first. It is a perfect way to destroy the hope that the Districts create around the reaping. It's an ode to the 75th Hunger Games, the quells similar in the aspect of losing hope after reaching a certain point in life. I take it from the tray and wave the avox off. I've made my decision and, as it should be, I'm excited about what is to come. Perhaps I'll write a note for my successor to choose the second quell for the 150th Hunger Games.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV, Capitol_

The crowd beyond where the president stands waving formed hours before, the anticipation being too much for some people. If one was to think that a regular Hunger Games got a load of excitement, they clearly haven't ever seen a Quarter Quell Games.

The scene that the camera pans on is reminiscent of a festival; bright colours are seen in the Capitolite's clothes, the flags they wave, the banners behind them. Everything marks a celebration; one that reminds the Districts how, to the Capitol, their lives are entertainment. A rebellion tried to put a stop to that fifty years ago. Tried, and failed. They had hoped to end the Games once and for all. The response? A one-off Hunger Games was held; double the tributes for two attempts at rebelling. Any attempts died down after that.

The cameras pan on her looking around, waving not only at the Capitolites but too all those in the Districts watching on their televisions. It's her second Quarter Quell and, naturally, she has more gusto than she did before, though everyone's excitement grows with each Quell that passes.

She taps on the microphone a few times and clears her throat, introducing us to the ceremony before presenting the white envelope to the crowd, parading it.

As expected, the audience creates a deafening cheer of applause, silenced only with the sound of us opening up the envelope.

"On the 125th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they destroyed their own hope and the hope of those in the Capitol, the tributes will be reaped from a pool beyond the traditional reaping ages. Instead of twelve to eighteen, the reaping pool will be nineteen to twenty-five."

For Capitolites who adore the brutality of the Games, having older people enter who might have started their own families or achieved the job of their dreams enter the arena could entail the most brutal Games ever. The crowd cheers deafeningly again and, with President Basilicus' waves, the Fifth Quarter Quell has begun.

* * *

 **! Sighs yes it's me with another SYOT.**

 **Hear me out! I had multiple chapters written for both the 100th and 55th Hunger Games' and all of them got deleted. It wasn't because they expired because the other week I made sure to create new documents to ensure that but... they've gone... so my motivation for both SYOTs has dropped significantly. I like having multiple ones on the go because, should I lose motivation with one, I can go to another to write and that's what I enjoy.**

 **For all those entered in the 100th and 55th Games', I _will_ be continuing them, I just need my motivation to come back so until then, here's the 125th Hunger Games! The form to submit is as follows;**

Name:  
Age:  
District:  
Gender:  
Appearance:  
Personality:  
Backstory:  
Family:  
Strengths (no more than three):  
Weaknesses (at _least_ three):  
Weapon:  
What were they doing on reaping day?  
Reaped/Volunteered:  
Reaction/Reason:  
Token (if any):  
Chariot Outfit:  
Interview Outfit + Angle:  
Wanted Alliances:  
Game Strategy:  
Ideal Placing:

 **As always, the way I accept tributes is half first come first served and half not. If someone is first to submit a tribute and I want to accept them, I will do so. Likewise, if someone submits a tribute and I want to hold off on accepting them, I reserve the right to.**

 **There will be no reservations.**

 **AND MOST IMPORTANTLY! TO HAVE YOUR TRIBUTE ACCEPTED YOU MUST TITLE YOUR PM '125TH HUNGER GAMES - DISTRICT POSITION.' THIS MAKES IT EASIER FOR ME TO FIND THE PM WHEN I'M WRITING. (so to clarify, if you were submitting the D1M you'd title your pm as '125th Hunger Games - District One Male'**

 **Hope to see you all soon!**

 **~Oli**


	2. Prologue

_Cinder Ashheart, District Twelve Male, 17 years old, Victor of the 124th Hunger Games_

Being in the Victory Parade is weird enough, let alone watching _my_ Games on the screen, them only ending a few days ago. The perception of the rest of Panem compared to my arena perception is striking and it unsettles me; I'm seeing what they saw and I can only describe it as 'other-worldly.' Not only am I in front of people who crowned me their victor (or, should I say, I killed to be their victor) but they idolise me, each wanting to look at me and see my reaction.

Annotations on the screen tells us there's five tributes left with our predicted placements and I know this as the last day;

BELLADONNA, DISTRICT TWO FEMALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: FIRST)_  
WYATTE, DISTRICT THREE MALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: FOURTH)_  
HUDSON, DISTRICT FOUR MALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: SECOND)_  
AMPHITRITE, DISTRICT FOUR FEMALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: THIRD)_  
CINDER, DISTRICT TWELVE MALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: FIFTH)_

It's disheartening to see 'fifth' next to my name. It reminds me that, before I won, nobody had any high expectations for me.

Next to our names is a symbol of the ground falling into the water. The way our arena was set up was that each day presented a new challenge. On the first day the whole arena was a grassy plains and, overnight, it became various mountain ranges. A couple of days later it was a swamp and then a vast sea with only a few islands. There were constant challenges and the one on the final day was to not only survive against the other tributes but also risk not falling into the acidic water that had claimed so many lives in the past.

I watch as the camera pans to me stalking Wyatte, hiding whenever he turns around. Whilst mostly plains, the arena had some trees to hide behind and I remember using them to my advantage.

 _You've got to survive this_ , I remember thinking to myself, _You're gonna make people care about you for once._

The camera catches everything of our pursuit; the way he, one of the biggest threats of the arena, cowers whenever he thinks someone's getting to close; the way I raise the pickaxe I had a multitude of times and the way we both jump at the sound of a cannon - Amphitrite's cannon. It's followed soon after by Wyatte's as I watch myself take the plunge and bury my weapon deep in his skull, his body crumpling at my feet. I remember how I felt then and to hear people cheer for it? I feel alien again. The names on the side change to reflect the recent developments;

BELLADONNA, DISTRICT TWO FEMALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: FIRST)_  
HUDSON, DISTRICT FOUR MALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: THIRD)_  
CINDER, DISTRICT TWELVE MALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: SECOND)_

It feels oddly good to see my chances go up and had I been needing motivation in the arena, that would've been enough.

The camera then pans to the fight between Belladonna and Hudson. By this point I was on a hill and could see two figures fighting but I hadn't known what had actually transpired, only the outcome. I lean forwards in what pretty much is the victor's throne as the two fight - once allies turned bitter enemies. Hudson swings his long sword around whilst Belladonna tries to get some hits in with her battleaxe. It's an intense fight with neither side relenting despite the harsh injuries they're inflicting on one another. The fight only ends when Hudson manages to strike off Belladonna's dominant arm and then kick her into the acid water. I heard her screams faintly in the arena. Hearing them crystal clear now is unnerving and I could've gone a lifetime without listening to them.

Once again, the board changes to reflect the new kill;

HUDSON, DISTRICT FOUR MALE. ( _PREDICTED PLACEMENT: FIRST)_  
CINDER, DISTRICT TWELVE MALE. (P _REDICTED PLACEMENT: FIRST)_

It seems as if our chances are equal.

As the camera zooms out to show our location in relation to one another, my mind wanders back to the final moments in the arena; I don't need to watch it to remember them.

* * *

 _Hudson lands a fist square in my forehead, knocking me backwards and disorientating me. I go to rub my head but my hand is stomped on by his boot, causing pain to shoot up my left arm. I can hear the acid waters somewhere in the distance but I can't tell where it is, all I can focus on is the pain. I keel onto my side, clutching my probably broken hand as I lie in a fetal position. This isn't how I wanted to die, curled up like a child, but I guess I have no choice._

 _And then I hear it, the faint sound that gives me all the strength I need._

 _A rogue jabberjay emits the scream of my mother, the last person I have left. I know it's a rouse but it gives me the strength to get back to my feet whilst Hudson appears confused, surprised, even. I don't know who he heard but it gives me time to grab my pickaxe and dislodge his footing, causing him to fall square on his back. I stare at his face for a few seconds, each prolonged and feel like minutes. Neither of us expected this to be how events would transpire and I can only assume it's his pure shock that prevents him from doing anything._

 _It's only when he reaches for his sword that I bring my weapon down on his chest, pulling it out of his body and wacking it again and again. Since one hand is unusable I'm doing this all with my non-dominant hand and I make a mess out of his torso and face. But I don't stop. I don't stop until his cannon sounds and I hear the words everybody wants to hear._

 _"Congratulations to Cinder Ashheart from District Twelve! Victor of the One-Hundredth and Twenty-Fourth Hunger Games!"_

* * *

Seeing my face as I'm announced the winner, the way I throw my head back with my eyes closed haunts me. I don't look like myself. I don't look like the boy who checked his reflection in the mirror before the reaping, nor do I look like the boy in the interviews. I look like a stranger. A Victor.

It's an abnormal feeling and now I can pin it down to the relief of being alive.

I'll make sure to tell my tributes that next year.

* * *

 **As always, here's a little prologue by the victor of the previous year!**

 **Cinder joins the victors of my other SYOTs; Knox (D8; 55th HG SYOT), Amora (D2; 65th HG SYOT) and, my biased favourite, Glitter (D1; 70th HG SYOT)!**

 **Maybe one day I'll write a side fic about their Games? Reapings up until the final moments? Who knows, it'd probably be for my own enjoyment.**

 **But yes! This is to spark interest for these Games! I still have a lot of spots open and I need more tributes!**

 **Everything you need to know about submitting is in the chapter before this. The Quell is tributes from the ages 19-25 can be reaped! I hope to see some submissions (half b/c I love to read them!)**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	3. District One Reaping

_Sunday Salome, District One Female, 19 years old_

In any other district the quell might be seen as taken away what was promised; a life of no longer being reaped. Here in One, however, it's a chance of redemption, a second chance to all those who weren't able to become the designated volunteer the first time round. Some people will be trying their hardest to get the chance of volunteering that was taken away from them. I'm one of those people, determined to take back the chance I lost. Besides, the girl to took my place, Sparkle, didn't even make it to the final seven, coming in tenth place instead.

My desire to volunteer stems far beyond just wanting to have a shot at redemption. As a Victor, nobody will be able to deny my right to see my father and we can live the life we were deprived of. When I was seven, I was separated from my father despite his pleas and was placed with our next door neighbours - the same people who had called the Peacekeepers on my father and told them that he was an unfit father. He had his difficulties but nobody can convince me that he was the only one who had struggles. I don't remember much of my mother, she having left soon after I was born, so my father - and the teddy bear he gave me, Rufus - was all I had. I had a good life with my next door neighbours, Ruby and Onyx Palrose, that's undeniable, but I can't help but wonder what life would be like had I been able to say with my father. The worst part is he still lives next door so all I can do is look and not touch or talk. As I've gotten older I can tell that's effected him a lot - the drinking habit he picked up when I was younger has progressively gotten worse and worse as the years have come and gone.

For him and the glory of redemption, I will win the 125th Hunger Games.

As some last minute training on the morning of the reaping, I make sure I eat my breakfast and get changed into my reaping clothes fairly early on, allowing me to spend the rest of the morning in the back garden practising my skills with the throwing axes that I took a liking to during academy training. Naturally, given my training and how it's only been less than a year since I've concluded it in the academy, I'll be one of the deadlier tributes which means I'll have a fairly high chance of making it home.

With each throw I manage to hit the makeshift targets I have, essentially just old pots I found lying about. As expected with someone who's fresh from the academy, each pot shatters into different pieces. I only miss one, and that's because I'm distracted from a noise to my side.

I look over as I walk to pick up all my axes and I see my father taking out the trash. I stop to watch him, axes falling from my hands and onto the grass. He looks worn down, the hardships of life definitely getting to him. In my head I can picture a time where wrinkles didn't dominate his face and he looked more youthful; a more welcomed thought than the ageing man before me but, even him as he is now, is something I want to be a part of again.

I don't know if he knows I'm out here, perhaps choosing to ignore me to make the whole day easier. I don't doubt that he knows about my intentions to volunteer - I've had arguments with Ruby over it, her being not as big of a fan as I am of the idea. Likewise, I don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't be supportive of me. In fact, I can bet he'd be the one sending me the most sponsors.

As he turns to enter his house, I don't miss the small smile that appears on his face as he looks at the remnants of the pots, clearly proud of my handiwork. Just the thought brings a smile to my own lips and, after picking up all of my axes and returning to the spot at the front of the garden, I throw my axes with more gusto - determined to make him just as proud with each throw.

* * *

 _Iridium Berlin, District One Male, 25 years old_

I'm sure anyone else my age would be happy about having the chance to volunteer again, another chance to claim the title of victor. I, on the other hand, am dreading the reaping. How could I not? Ever since my father passed, I've been District One's Mayor. As soon as the Quell had been announced I contacted the Capitol and asked, given my position, if I was exempt from the reaping. A quick response back, barely an hour or so after I had sent the inquiry, told me that I wasn't and that I'd have to pass on the speech to my mother - the old mayor's widow.

Whilst I'm sure other people my age are training once again for the once in a lifetime opportunity, my mother and I sit at the dinner table, breakfast plates beside us with a piece of paper in between us. Although she's used to giving speeches as the spouse of a mayor, it's been a long time since she's done one and, naturally, I'm the best person to help her as the current mayor.

"I don't know how your father wrote speeches like he did," My mother says with a shake of her head, a small laugh sounding out. My father was renowned for being able to write speeches on the fly and, impressively, at quick speeds; he could write a heartfelt, emotional speech in no less than five minutes. "I don't how you do it either."

I shrug, "It's easy after the first few tries. You just got to resonate with the audience."

For all the speeches my mother has done, this is the first one she's doing addressing the _whole_ District, not just sections like women, mothers or academy trainers. A District-wide speech is always daunting as the need to find the balance so that it appeals to all audiences is so imperative. You need to make sure that the speech is intellectual enough not to bore the older audience members but, simultaneously, being easy enough to understand for those who're younger. You need to make sure everyone is interested and try to minimise the lack of attention as much as possible.

"Make sure to say how the Quell is a massive opportunity for District One to prove how great we are," I say, watching her as she writes. She and my father moved into the official residence of the mayor during the 101st Hunger Games and thus never had to prepare a speech for a Quarter Quell.

"I assume that also means berate the other Career Districts whilst we can?" She asks with a small smile, chuckling slightly.

I nod, "I mean, maybe not openly enough where our tributes die in the Bloodbath."

It takes the two of us a while to craft what, in our opinion, is the perfect speech. It remains captivating enough whilst subtly promising that District One will be the biggest threat in the arena this year. Ultimately, the speech is a promise that District One won't be taking the chance given to us due to the Quell lightly. It's bittersweet when it ends; although we have the speech prepared it means that I have to get changed for the reaping, the need to mentally psyche myself up to stand in the spot I haven't stood in for six years becoming apparent.

I had laid out what I would've worn if I was to be doing my duties as mayor on my bed and I give it a glance. It's far fancier than anything than the other reapees would be wearing but I figure that I'll be expected to be a little bit over the top - being District One's mayor after all. With the decision set in my mind, I put the outfit on and make my way downstairs, presenting myself to my mother.

"How do I look?" I ask, motioning to myself.

She looks up and I can see the heartbreak in her eyes - since I became mayor, it seems one of her biggest fears is losing me and I think the realisation of me potentially going into the arena has hit her.

"You look good," She says with a sad smile, "Like a mayor."

As if on cue, the whistle blows and my mother and I give each other reassuring glances before making our way to the Justice Building.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

The main square of District One is _brimming_ with excitement. From twelve-year-old's who get to forgo their first proper reaping to those inside the reaping area who can't _wait_ to have the chance to volunteer again, the whole District is enthusiastic, and rightfully so. An unspoken addition to the winner's crown is showing people how superior their District is; how, years after they have the prospect to be reaped, their citizens remain strong. It's a bragging right that those in One want to have, to assert dominance over their fellow Districts.

The escort is dressed to the nines for the event; shimmery golds and silvers decorate her body and it's obvious she's feeling the mini-patriotism inside of District One. Still being younger than most other escorts, she's able to feed off of the crowd's energy whilst also delivering it back, making for a grand spectacle of the thing. Her speech is deliberately emotive, bringing some in the audience to tears. She plays into One's hands, telling them how they have the best citizens and that they'll be the ones to come out on top, undoubtedly boosting the soon to be tributes' egos. To show them that she is one of them, she cries alongside them at the film which is made more emotive and designed to reflect the latest quell.

After the film brings the moment a lot of people are excited for. Iridium Berlin, the mayor of One, is within the reaping ages and has to stand in the crowd - if the constant gazes in his direction didn't give it away. His mother, Alisha Berlin, takes to the stage in his place and read the speech on the paper in front of her. It's clear as day to anyone watching that she's nervous but years of being the previous mayor's wife has enabled her to possess a kind of confident about herself, allowing her to read the words in a way that continues to captivate peoples' attention. Her speech flows and is equally as emotive as the escort's, paying tribute to both her deceased husband but making a nod at her son.

Wasting no time as soon as Mrs Berlin is finished, the escort claps her hands, "As always, the female tribute first!"

As predicted, the escort only needs to put her hand in the bowl full of female names before declarations of volunteering can be heard. Given the Quell's nature and that most haven't been in training for years, there's no designated volunteer and it is of the escort's full discretion of who she picks. She scans the audience before picking a girl from the nineteen-year-old's section.

The girl in question steps proudly into the aisle and makes her way up to the stage. The most eye-catching thing about her is her short, boyish hair cut. She stands at a respectable height and, bar her haircut and a scar on one of her eyebrows, she has the typical pale skin and green eyes combo that most in One possess. It's very obvious, if she had longer hair, that she'd be among One's most renowned beauties - not that her hair won't stop that.

She takes her place beside the escort and smiles down at the rest of her District. Seeing as she emerged from where the nineteen-year-old's were, it becomes obvious to anyone that she probably missed out on her chance of volunteering the year prior and is making up for it.

"And what's your name dear?" The escort asks with a smile, clearly already thinking about ways to market her to the sponsors in the Capitol.

"Sunday Salome," The girl replies, the smile not leaving her face.

There's a silence before the District erupts into an applause for her, deeming her to be worthy enough to represent them in the District.

"And now, for the boys!" The escort says after nodding at Sunday.

Unlike before, everyone waits on bated breath as there's a chance their mayor can be reaped to go into the Games and, given that One has an insatiable thirst to be deemed better than the other districts, it's no wonder that everyone's silent until the escort returns to the centre of the stage.

"And the male tribute for District One is," The escort says as she breaks the black seal, revealing the name, "Iridium Berlin!"

There's a silence where one can hear a pin drop before the District erupts into cheer. Anything Sunday had is blown out of the water as Iridium emerges from the twenty-five-year-old's spot and makes his way to the stage. He smiles, deep down knowing that nobody'll volunteer as he's One's key to asserting their desired dominance.

He takes his place beside the escort and smiles at her, looking back at his mother momentarily who looks worried, scared even.

The two tributes shake hands and it's clear Sunday didn't expect her district partner to be her own mayor. As the two are separated and led into the Justice Building, the chants of "District One! District One!" can be heard.

* * *

 **And here's our first pair - Sunday and Iridium!**

 **I can't wait for the dynamics between the two when Sunday realises Iridium's father would've had something to do with her and her father being separated - it might make for some interesting dynamics between the two!**

 **As always, thank you so much to 66samvr and District 9 Tribute for Sunday and Iridium respectively! I hope I did them justice!**

 **For anyone who's now lurking on the story because they saw it's open in the search bar, _please_ submit! The following places are still open; D2M, D3F, D4M, D5F, D7M, D7F, D8M, D8F, D9M, D9F, D10F and the D12F!**

 **The form and the rules about submitting are on the first chapter of this SYOT! Please do submit! :)**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


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